Gaslight
by BellonaBellatrix
Summary: Ginny faces her past, with Harry's help. not as optimistic as you think...


Disclaimer: All characters you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author notes: Based on the movie _Gaslight :_ the 1940's one, and the term gaslight is coined from that movie. It's a form of psychological abuse.

"It uses persistent denials of fact which, as they build up over time, make the victim progressively anxious, confused, and less able to trust his or her own memory and perception. A variation of gaslighting, used as a form of harassment, is to subtly alter aspects of a victim's environment, thereby upsetting his or her peace of mind, sense of security, etc."

-From the wikipedia ;-)

-Also this was written as a gift to Nokomiss. Her profile and lovely fanfiction is here: http// www. /u/ 62968/

Gaslight

_Feathers. _

_She was twenty-two years old when her mother found her outside in the family chicken coop, holding a hen by its neck. Her nightclothes were white and her legs were thin, as they were when she was a little, little girl with freckles._

_She had precisely twenty-two freckles on her left calf. He had counted. _

_She was still in her nightclothes when they rushed her to St. Mungo's. She was thankful, and she cried in relief as they bound her arms together. No more. _

_She cried as they walked her down the hall, past the glass rooms. Lockhart pressed his nose against the window, waving. Safe. _

"_Hello, Ginny."_

_Her heart stopped. He was standing in a Healer's robe, smiling. "Long time, no see. But don't worry. I'm going to take good care of you."_

_He opened her cell—her new home—and it was a gaping mouth, full of darkness. _

_Not there again, she tried to speak, looking desparately at the mediwitches that held her body pinned in between them. _

"_Be gentle with her. No bruises this time. I want this one lucid."_

_They nodded, and their faces were as white as birch, carved clean of any expression. Her old dolls, his new toys, and they carried her towards the darkness like they had been wound up. _

"_Please, tell me my little girl will get better." Her mother cried into her home- stitched handkercheif, and he patted her arm. _

"_I assure you, madam, once I work out the all the kinks, you'll never notice the difference."_

_And in the darkness, a hand with ragged nails, long with age and insanity, gripped her face. There was a horrible, nearly rancid breath hit her face. _

"_Oh, this is going to be fun."_

_&&&_

She gulped at the water greedily.

After she was sure she had drowned that hollow, sickly feeling, Ginny held the cold glass against her forehead.

"Nightmares again, Gin?"

She jumped. Harry stood in the doorway, stifling a yawn. She noticed that his pajamas were too short for him. She could see his bare ankles. It was adorable.

Ginny was proud of Harry. He was next in line for the Minster of Magic position, she just knew it. And here she was, keeping him up all night.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," she said. "I was just thirsty, is all."

"You didn't take your Sleeping Draught, did you."

"I took it during dinner. You reminded me, _remember,_" she said cheerfully.

He sighed, straightening his glasses, a motion that meant he was displeased about something. This time that something was her.

"You totally faked it. I can't believe you even stirred whatever the hell was in your glass. I mean, what's the point?"

"I'm so glad you prefer my company when I'm knocked out," she muttered, crossing her arms with some familiar twinges of pain.

"I prefer you all the time, you know. Awake, asleep. As long as you're happy during both, I don't care."

Ginny pouted. How was she supposed to have a scalding response to the whole caring husband bit? He smiled slyly. Then promptly tripped as he entered the room. Ginny had no mercy for she had warned him that she had cleaned the floor. Harry turned his trip into some sort of twirling skip, and she stifled a giggle. He pretended nothing had happened, and leaned against the counter. And she was instantly warmed when he put his hand over hers. It was like drinking a whole cup of peppermint delight.

"So—as an old hat to nightmares—what did you dream about?"

"I dreamt about him, again."

"Oh. Well-.":

"Don't say it. I don't want to be dependent on draughts the rest of my life, okay."

"I know, I know" Harry said. "And that wasn't what I was going to say, by the way..."

"You don't have bad dreams," she pointed out. "Out of the two of us, I expected-."

"I got to face him. You never got the chance. It's totally different. And you know what?" Harry turned towards her, his eyes lighting up. "I have an idea."

"About checking my glass next time?"

"Besides that. Let's take back your first year."

"Take it back?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We could go back to Hogwarts to spend a few weeks. Just the two of us. You told me how excited you were about going to Hogwarts, so I started to think you deserved a do-over. Classes should be ending by now, and I'm sure McGonagall wouldn't mind."

She stared at him in wonder. "How long have you beeng plotting this one, Mr. Potter?"

"It was more of a lighting strike, Mrs. Potter. So what do you say?"

Ginny shifted on her feet. "I…I don't know. It sounds like tempting the fates."

"I like to think of it as challenging the old biddies. And it's not just taking back a year lost. It's taking it back from him."

There was nothing Harry could have said that could have baited her more. His words held a hook hidden behind their mirth.

"…All right. It sounds like fun. I'm never too young to relive my youth."

"That's the spirit," Harry said. "I'll owl Minerva tomorrow."

"Minerva?" Ginny asked, laughing.

All the professors insist that I'm on a first name basis with them," he said, shaking his head. "Sounds weird, I guess."

Then something occurred to her, and she gasped. "Harry! I'm so sorry! I forgot."

"Hmm?" Ginny saw that he was feigning confusion, and she felt absolutely wretched.

"The anniversary is coming up."

"In some countries, that day is already here. Time zones and so on. Can't beat them," Harry said.

"Well, surely we're not traveling now. How can you even want to?" Usually, Harry wanted to be alone on the anniversity of the day that he finally defeated You-Know-Who.

"Because I'm not about to look a gift-horse in the mouth," he said quietly.

He looked like such a solemn child that she nearly laughed but something—the hook—stopped her. "To second chances, then," he said, holding up an invisible glass for her to toast.

"Here, here," she said weakly, thankful for a break in the veil that had briefly consumed them. "I-,"

Harry pressed his mouth against hers, taking her words from her.

&&&

On the train, Harry behaved like a toddler entranced by his first visit to the beach, his nose up against the window. The world's greatest hero still gets excited about a train ride, Ginny thought dryly.

"We could have just Flooed, you know" she said, poking him in the shoulder. She made sure that she used the finger with the longest nail.

"Oh come on. Floo to Hogwarts," he scoffed. "I want to relive the whole experience again."

"Well, for your first ride, I wouldn't even be here. Sure you don't want to 'take back Hogwarts' with Ron?"

"Hey, hey. Not too bitter, there," Harry said, frowning as if she had broken his new toy. "Of course, I want to do this with you."

"You haven't said one word the entire time."

"The _thoughtful_ silence was for the atmosphere. And for the idle hands theory…" He reached over playfully to lift up the edge of her skirt, and she pushed his hand away. Ginny couldn't remember Harry being quite this sarcastic but he did have all his burdens lifted from his shoulders

"I'm surprised you chose this day," she repeated, looking to have those burdens back on his shoulders.

There was something about the way he was touching her that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. His hands were warmer than usual, and Harry had always given her a slightly lost, almost bashful look, as if afraid he'd be scolded. Or, in his own words, being with her was too good to be true, and the world would fall just to drive them apart. Today, however, it seemed like he was dissecting her with his eyes.

"Really? I was kind of hoping to avoid the reporters who would swarm upon our house. It's not good for you."

"Or you," she said. He shrugged in good humor. Which pissed her off. "Are you taking the mickey?" she snapped, and switched seats. Now she had to look at him, but at least, he wouldn't…do what husbands do, she thought grimly.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly as he began to open his mouth. "It's just…It just seems like you're being really…"

"Yes?"

"Nevermind." Ginny blamed her imagination and the heat of the compartment, and settled for looking out the window, trying to calm her nerves. Harry took off his glasses and placed them in his pocket.

"Surprise," he said.

"Erm…"

"I had my vision improved. Hermione's been telling me to do it for ages. I've taken her up on it, and now, I can see you without looking through glass."

Ginny laughed despite herself. "So how's the view?"

Harry tilted his head. "If I look, just like this, and the light is just right, it's like you have a halo on your head."

"Harry…" she whispered, feeling overwhelmed by his compliment.

"You know what we can do to pass the time?" Harry mused. "I know something that I can't do with Ron."

"Here? Now?"

"Here, no. We can do it right over there," he said, pointing to the empty compartment across from them. "Now, most definitely."

"…You're not kidding."

His mouth twitched. "No."

She shook her head, and he changed seats again, closing in the space.

"No, Harry," Ginny repeated, frowning. He leaned forward, and without his glasses, his face was more chisled.

"Why? Give me one good reason, and I'll refute it."

"I don't want you to refute it!" she said. "Can't you wait until we get a bloody room."

"…All right, then." A dark look passed over his face. "I'll wait until the room."

She bit her lip and nodded tersely, feeling sicker with every mile that the train brought them closer to Hogwarts.

"I'm going to get some air," she said, and hurried out the door. She paced up and down the halls, wondering why the mere thought of their solitude made her want to scream.

When they reached Hogwarts, however, Harry acted like nothing was amiss. Looking shyly over his shoulder, he carried her bags for her, in what Ginny thought was a show of good will, considering the situation. Yet she desired to carry her own belongs, and made a desparate claim for the smallest bag.

Professor McGonagall met them on the platform and to Ginny's consertnation, immediately plucked the only bag right from her hand.

"This isn't the first time that students have returned to Hogwarts but usually more than two years pass by," she said.

"Well, we missed it-," Harry began.

"Um, so what's the schedule during the summer? I know Hogwarts still has some professors about. When should we be down in the Great Hall?"

"There is no one here for the first two weeks, Mrs. Potter. But I trust you can manage. We've made special provisions for the two of you. And no, Mr. Potter—we have keep your presence here a secret," McGonagall added, smiling at Harry.

"I don't understand," Ginny said. "At least Hagrid should be…"

"Ah, Rubeus is with Madam Maxime," McGonagall replied, making her way to the carriages that were guided by the now visible Thestrals. "I believe he shall be starting a family of his own soon."

"You don't say," Harry said, an undercurrent of disbelief illy disguised in his tone.

"Indeed," McGonagall said, glancing at Harry as if to read his expression. She senses it too, Ginny thought, her hands starting to tremble.

"You know…I'm sorry, but I'm having second thoughts. I know you've gone to all this trouble, but this just isn't a good idea," she blurted out.

"Are your arms hurting again?" Harry asked, looking at her hands, and soon McGonagall was following his gaze. She stuck her hands in her pockets.

"No, it's not my arms, I'm-,"

"Tired from the journey," McGonagall said kindly. "Once you get to Hogwarts, I'm sure it will be fine, dear. I've held you up for too long, I'm afraid."

"Here, let me help you up," Harry said, and moved to guide her into the carriage.

"I can do it myself," Ginny growled, and he backed away. She grabbed the handles of the door, and using her frustration as leverage, pulled herself into the small interior.

'Right then' she heard him utter weakly to McGonagall and mentally she called him every dirty name under the book. "Thanks again. It means so much to us. More than you could ever know."

Ginny shivered and closed her eyes, burrowing herself against the old cushions.

"Well, that was pleasant," he said, when he closed the door. "I'm glad no one else is staying here with us. They would have poisoned the food before long."

She flinched at his complete about-face of behavior. "Wh-."

"You're unpleasant. Actually, you're more than unpleasant, and it's quickly boring me."

"Is that a threat?" she bristled.

"It's a promise, really," Harry said. "I can only do so much. Now, let's lay the ground rules. I shall list them in terms that are easy for you to comprehend."

"Ex-." He reached out and backhanded her hard across the face. She fell backwards into the seat, holding her cheek and gaping at him in shock.

"You're excused. Number one, don't wander away from me. Do you realize how many places there are that people can get lost? Ah, I thought so."

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" she roared, reaching for her wand and finding it gone.

"Do you really not get it? It's a do-over, Ginny. What do you think that means, exactly?"

"…I don't…" she whispered.

"It's quite simple. Think. Hard."

"The anniversary," Ginny said slowly. "You…you were sick and I had no idea...oh, God. Harry, you're…"

"That's good enough for me," Harry said, laughing. "I had no illusions about your intelligence. Let's try this again." He raised his wand, and the last thing Ginny saw before the blackout was his eyes, dark and luminous.

"Obliviate!"

&&&

Ginny reached lazily for her wand, and paused as her hands met empty space on the dresser. She cracked an eye open, and saw that her wand was gone.

She patted the table twice to make sure her senses were not betraying her. Then the shock of the room being different flew through her like dart.

"Harry!"

"No need to yell. I'm right here," he said. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. She relaxed against the warmth of his presence, and felt his hands brush up against her breasts. "How did you sleep?"

"Great," she admitted. "I made it through the whole night. I guess…I agreed to the Hogwarts thing." She pulled up the heavy, red covers, and fought back the feeling of confusion that ate at the edge of her peace like mice nibbling at cheese in a mousetrap.

"It's weird waking up in a new place even though it's familiar," he muttered. "I nearly jumped out of bed, ready to take on my captors one by one. The poor house-elf getting the towels will probably need therapy now."

His hair was a complete mess, and she ruffled it about further. "You know, this was a good idea. When did I dose off, though?"

She snuggled into the covers, thinking about the peaceful, almost new feeling she had. It was similar to listening to a deep storm outside while reading a captivating book, and she was quite happy with the situation.

"During the carriage ride. Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

She blushed. "Er…"

"And I carried you up the stairs myself." He kissed her forehead.

"What did I say?" she inquired, placing her chin on his chest and biting her lip suggestively.

"Oh, it was just a list of your many secret lovers. Some names I recognized."

"Like who?"

"Luna Lovegood, for one."

"Harry!" she yelped, burying her face into her pillow.

"It's more than a little awkward when your secret lover is my secret lover. I barely made it up the stairs with my new found knowledge."

"You're horrible."

"I know. So what are we to do today? Any requests?"

"Hmm…how about a walk around the lake?" she suggested. "We haven't done that in ages."

"I love it when your eyes light up," he said, and she was quite thankful that she had brought up the covers around her face. She was sure he could feel the heat from her body, now, as well as her heartbeat. "And then, my lady?"

"Let's be spontaneous."

"In other words, you have no idea what we are going to do today."

"Like you do."

"As a matter a fact, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes." She did so, holding out her hands and halfway expecting that necklace she had been dropping hints for over the past two months. She had expected a lot of things.

Oh God. You have got to be kidding me, she thought numbly. In her hands was an exact replica of Tom's diary. The cover, the pages, the _age_, and even the curls around the corner of the book were the exact-fucking-same as before.

"Can you believe that old store is still there? I managed to convince the guy to let me into the back and-."

He went on, and on, proud of his accomplishment and all she could picture is that her husband digging—touching—the same books as Tom did years ago, contemplating each book while looking for the perfect match, and…

Ginny dropped the book in her lap.

"Why?" she asked, aware that her voice was shaking.

"I thought you could write in it. Only this time, it would be different."

No shit, Sherlock, she thought, through the haze of her rising temper. "Your thoughts would be your own. Consider it closure."

"Oh, I'll be keeping it closed, all right," Ginny said, pushing the vile thing off the bed and onto the floor.

"Um, this was your suggestion, Gin," Harry said, giving her a confused look. "Am I missing something?"

"_My _suggestion? Are you completely off your nut?" If Harry thought this up himself, then he had all the sensitivity—as well as intelligence—of the blunt ax that had blotched Sir Nick's execution. "Or are you trying to drive me away?"

"Y-you mentioned it while we were packing," Harry stuttered, turning pale. "'Harry, you know what would make this perfect? If I had his little book to scribble in on our holiday…"

Her mind wavered, trying to find a foundation to stand on. All she found was a deep, silent haze.

"I didn't mean for you to take me literally," she said instead. It wasn't exactly normal not to remember any such conversation taking place. However, out of all the patchwork, she chose the prettiest—and the simplest—pattern.

"Well, I did," he said. "God help me, I did. I'll return it right away." He got out of the bed sullenly, reaching for his glasses.

"You still need your glasses?" she whispered.

"You know I'm blind without these," he snapped.

"There's no need to return it, Harry," she said, trying to smile. "I'm sorry. Don't be angry."

"Talk about mixed signals."

"I was just…I was still half-asleep."

"All right, then. Well, since we are off to such a great start, I'll go ahead and ruin the other surprise. Your brothers are coming to play Quidditch on the old field. Is that okay, or does that count as trying to drive you away?"

"That's okay, Harry."

"Just 'okay'. I see."

He got up and began to dress, not looking at her. "It's great, Harry. I mean it."

"I'll owl them. They really shouldn't bother."

He left her without their walk and with Ginny trying to pick up the pieces. So she dressed after him, and placed the book in her pocket. She wasn't letting it out of her sight, and it was better on her person than alone and a needle at the back of her mind. She had to apologize to Harry about her behavior. The Healer had said it was easy for her to think others were hostile. Those who had survived a trauma usually saw the world through a narrow scope. The first step was to widen the narrow view, and assume some credit for interaction that had been preciously out of her control.

Step by step.

"I'm sorry," she began, walking into the Owlery to stop him from sending the letter. Then she stopped, her mouth falling open.

Harry wasn't there. Neither were the owls. There wasn't a single owl on the lofts or the window ledge. A chill passed over her as she realized she had no means of sending a letter.

"I know."

She spun around, holding a hand to her heart. "Harry, you scared me."

"You're always sorry. That's how you get away with your attitude. Your apologies are your little safety net." His face was similar to that of a stone idol, emotionless as if a switch had been turned off. "I wouldn't try it again. I cut your line this time, Gin."

He placed his hands on her shoulders in the attitude of a disappointed parent. "And it's a long way down, you know."

"I-," She bit her tongue. "I would love to play Quidditch today."

He tilted his head. "Really? It would be just the two of us."

"But I know Ron would-."

"He would if he could read minds. As you can see, there are no owls here, and I loaned Hedwig to Percy."

"Oh."

"You have that look on your face again. Did you have another blackout?" Now he was concerned, and held her closer.

"No," she said, shivering for effect. "I'm just cold and a little hungry."

"I can make you your favorite breakfast." He putted his arm around her shoulder and pinned her to him. "I'm used to cooking for people."

"Yeah," Ginny said. She remembered what the Healer said about trust. With her own mind damaged during her imprisonment, she had to give her full trust to her husband and her friends. But that was very hard especially when all her trust stemmed out of guilt alone.

"And we should talk about it."

"I don't want to."

"The Healer suggested it," Harry pointed out. "As soon as you come to terms with what happened, you'll get better."

Ginny nodded, and began the ritual, telling Harry all about what Lestrange had put her through in _his_ dungeon. About how she had cried for him, and how it had hurt. It was like reading some lines for a play.

And she was suddenly in bed again, and it was nighttime. Harry's hands were running down her thighs. Or rather his hands were everywhere, and he was kissing her. She couldn't ask how and when and why, and she was glad she couldn't. So she kissed him back for the sake of normalcy because this was what a husband and wife did.

Her hands hurt, though.

"I didn't mean to hit the Quaffle so hard," he whispered.

"It's all right," she said.

"I hope the marks on your legs heal. That was a right nasty fall."

"I'm sure they will," she said, digging her fingers into the covers.

"Tomorrow, we'll do something a little more productive."

She heard the hissing in the walls but ignored it because Harry didn't bat an eye. She had an active imagination after all. She ignored the feeling of _things_, cold and dry, wrapping themselves around her legs. She ignored the voices that came underneath the hissing.

Really, Harry was probably very tired, so she would be very quiet.

"The pipes are really getting old, didn't you notice?"

"Because of the sound?"

"Yes."

"I noticed," she said. Her robes had been torn to shreds and covered with something heavy and dark. It must have been a terrible fall. She must have scared Harry to death, and she withered in guilt. She remembered. She had fallen…her hands had weakened under the strain. She just slipped.

She had fallen a long way with the wind roaring alongside of her, and he had swooped down and grabbed her arm. Couldn't stop her from hitting the ground but he had saved her life. Again. She reached for his hand in the darkness and squeezed it lightly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

&&&

The Great Hall was far too empty.

"I really enjoyed today," Harry commented happily. "Didn't you?" All Ginny felt was that her face hurt for some reason. They must have played Quidditch again.

"I'm not that good on a broom anymore," she said.

"Nonsense, you were wonderful. I've never had such fun. What did you write about?"

"Hmm?"

"In the diary."

She had read the book as soon as she could. In her own handwriting, it told her stories about all the nice things Harry had done for her.

"I wrote about today," she said, looking at her plate.

"Good," he said, smiling into his goblet. The Great Hall was a very strange place without people in it. It was a people place, after all. With just the two of them, it was like being inside a heart, and every beat was unexpected. "Anything specific?"

"That you caught me when I fell."

"Yeah. That was a very near miss."

"And how we talked to the Centaurs today, and they were nice." He nodded. "I also loved our walk around the lake."

"I'm sorry that you fell into the water," he said. "I didn't remember that the ground was that uneven. It's entirely my fault."

"No, I tripped. My legs were a little sore."

"Did you take your draught?" She nodded.

"I'm so lucky to have you as a wife, you know," Harry said, his hand brushing hers. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Something burned up in her, the sense of a greater injustice, and she couldn't hold it in. The Great Hall was empty, so she wanted to fill it to the brim with her words.

"You married me before I got…before they captured me," Ginny said, clutching the fork. "You got locked into this. If you backed out, it would have made you look like an utter bastard. Everything I do, everything I need, you have to deal with. So stuff it."

Harry stared at her, his cup looming halfway to his open mouth. His hurt expression was like wine, and though mixed with vinegar, she craved more.

"I mean—none of you will ever look at me below my neck. Then you would have to take off that mask of everything's so bright and cheerful, and-."

Harry took her arms and peeled her long sleeves down. Her scars glistened in the soft light, looking like some kind of map to Hell.

He kissed them gently. "You're beautiful."

"And you're full of shit," she said, trying to force the words out through her tears.

"You have the smallest hands," Harry continued, deepening his kisses, running his tongue along her scars. There was the darkness of disbelief in her mind, and all she could do was pretend this was a dream, that her husband wasn't outlining every rivulet of scarring on her skin.

"S-s-stop it."

"They're like frail little birds. I've watched you write before. You know, I did notice you even if I didn't show it properly. I'm not very good with…showing you how much you mean to me."

"STOP!" she screamed, and pulled her hands away.

"What have they done to you?" Harry asked in sad wonderment. "You used to like that."

Her skin felt _unclean_, and she stifled a hysterical, little laugh. "Harry…you've never kissed my hands. Ever."

"Yes, I have. You just don't remember. That's why I wanted you to go to the Healers, Gin, because you lost so much more than the bad."

"…Are you…are you telling the truth?"

"Do you believe I am?" Harry asked. "Because that's what counts, doesn't it. If I'm telling the truth, and you believe me to be a liar, then all my words are lies. And if I'm lying, and you think I'm honest, good, great Harry, then…"

She looked at his mouth, seemingly perfectly bowed like Cupid's would be, and she remembered what happened to Cupid's wife.

_This door you might not open, and you did;  
So enter now, and see for what slight thing  
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid._

"Perhaps it's best that I don't know the truth," Ginny said. Her words bubbled out of her without any real rhyme or reason.

"You'd prefer ignorance?"

"I have a feeling that it's your truth, not…well, anyone else's."

"Ah. Good choice, Gin. Very good choice," he said, looking up at the Cheshire cat moon reflected in the ceiling.

"This is all rather mad," she said.

"There's a thin line between sanity and madness. All it really takes to cross that line is one bad day, no?"

"We've had more than one, Harry."

"So you've been counting."

"I'm going to bed," Ginny said, and looked down. Her arms glistened even more so from his salvia. Fish scales. "Okay." Their last night here…

"Okay," he said. "I'll try not to wake you."

Though she should have run to her room, she walked the whole way, admiring the empty portraits.

&&&

"Hermione," Ginny whispered, kneeling by the fireplace. The book was in her hand, and she didn't remember when or why she had picked it up. The flames flickered but Hermione did not appear. "Please, it's an emergency. Harry's taken a fall down the stairs and-."

"Hello," Hermione responded, looking alarmed. "What about a fall? I-."

"I lied," Ginny said simply. "But since you believed it, then I guess that makes it all right. It may be true, like a lonely tree falling in a forest. Right?"

Hermione floundered, trying to dig up some equal reply. She picked fake amiability. "That's interesting. But you really shouldn't play jokes like that, Ginny. It's all right this time, though, so don't get upset."

"It was the only way to make you answer me. You only answer to Harry now. I've noticed."

"What nonsense. I'm very busy, you know, and can't always be available."

"It doesn't matter. Listen, Riddle's back, and he's wearing sheep's clothing."

Hermione nodded. "I see. Is Harry there? He should know immediately."

"Harry is the fleece."

"I-."

"He's going to kill me, Hermione. I just thought you should know."

"Seal the door. I know I can turn the fireplace into a two-way entrance, just give me a mome-."

Ginny doused the fire calmly, and went to change into something more appropriate. She put on her favorite red dress, one that was slim and bordering on crimson clover. It also was very comfortable, and she knew her limbs would be free to run. She didn't hide her scars.

She placed the diary near the hearth and moved the chair near the center of the room to wait. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, and folded her hands in her lap, like she had seen ladies do in very old pictures. He opened the door casually, not bothering to check inside first. He knew she would be there.

Harry wasn't Harry, Ginny saw. He seemed even taller in the firelight, and his eyes were a shade of scarlet, Of course, this all could be the effect of the fireplace. Of course.

"So you want to be awake for this. You know what they say about curiosity, Ginerva."

"I have a few questions."

"Oh?" He raised an inky eyebrow. "Well, after years of entertainment, I suppose I can. What husband can't dote on his wife, after all."

"How long?"

"Nothing great ever happens in halves. I've been with you for two years."

"And no one ever noticed," Ginny whispered, gripping the sides of her chair.

"People see what they want to see. The brothers that you claimed _loved_ you did not notice your possession. Why would this be any different, especially for the world's icon?"

"It is different. I should have known."

"Yes. I must confess I am disappointed. At first, I thought that you didn't prefer the perfect, little life. And then you did. What a surprise."

"What did you do to Harry, Tom?"

"Who?"

She closed her eyes.

"All right, all right. About time you asked about him," he said, sitting across from her as casual as ever. "His name used to be a household word that I created. Now it's merely in black and white in dusty books. Immortal to the perpetually brainy. A pity."

Ginny looked away. "Don't pretend. He was always just a word. Never a real boy. The one murder that I never committed. I just blotted him out while your memories did the rest. What I gave, I took away…I couldn't have done it without the help of his motley group of friends. And I always give credit where it is due. You must have been fond of him, little one."

She bit her lip, dangling on the hook. "I had to use the Memory Charm on you more than once."

"I expected a little more originality for you, you know," she said.

"My method reflects the subject. Simplicity fits you so well."

"How did you do it? How did this…happen?"

"Our connection. He was not well guarded from me. He didn't want to be. You see, he was fascinated with the possible darkness in him. It was all too easy for him to be a martyr. At the last moment, the fear of himself—of what he would be without me—opened the door wide enough."

"Is he there with you?"

"No," Tom said, studying her. "He was imprisoned within my old body. You know what happened to my old body, don't you? You were there. You watched as he died, mentally dancing on my grave…reveling in my pain and humiliation. It was most amusing."

She remembered being pulled from the prison near the end, being pulled from the darkness. Harry walked away from a crumpled, pale body lying there like a rag doll. _He_ was still alive, though. Harry said he couldn't. He just couldn't. Then others came, and…

"It must have killed you, people forgetting you the moment your body went up in smoke. Like a bad dream. That's all you were, and two years later, you're still just my bad dream."

"You're at your best when you're angry," Tom commented. "And the lies aren't as easy to tell when you're in a crucible. I don't mind being a dream, really. I'm used to shaping the foundation before I take the platform. That's what I've been doing as Harry. My words from Harry's mouth…I have my own captive audience. The foundation has changed in these two years to my benefit."

"And that's why I'm here," Ginny said. "Instead of adding to your political appeal, I'm now a set-back.

"Indeed."

"What you don't know is that I just told Hermione all about you. I've placed the seed of doubt in her mind. So do as you'd like. Despite what you do to me, you are finished."

"Have the other countless stories and theories slipped your mind? I'm sure they have. It's safe to say you have the most colorful profile at St. Mungo's. I read it myself, and it's simply fascinating. How you project your past trauma onto every aspect of your daily life because you feel you deserved to die in your first year…how the subject looks for her tormentor in her friends, her family, and even herself. Really riveting. Hermione believes you are having another mental breakdown, Ginny. And who knows—you may very well be."

"W-what?"

"Theoretically speaking, Harry may be alive and well, moping about in the Great Hall and comforting himself for bearing his burden. And I may just be a figment of your diseased and failing mind. So tell me—which is it?"

"Y-you're making me confused," she choked out, desperately searching for a reality. It was better that Tom be real than this uncertainty within herself. Anything was better than that! Or was she still in the dungeon with Lestrange? Was it a mind game? If she squinted, she could see the old stones around her like a knowing, chorus of smiles.

The undercurrent.

"It doesn't matter. The end result is still the same. Look at your hands."

She did and found that her formerly long nails were cut to the quick. A sense of growing detachment washed over her. "They cut your nails so you wouldn't hurt yourself. Your wand has been adjusted so you can only perform the simplest of spells. But your hair…they forgot about your hair."

He walked behind her, the picture of a dotting husband, and she was too numb to care. He gathered her long hair in his hands, admired it briefly, and then looped it tightly around her neck. "My own little Porphyria, wrapped in a bow of red. And I just away a minute or two."

Ginny felt the metal of the knife she had stolen during their last meal. It was cold and solid against her inner arm. Her reality was in terms of multiple choice.

And she picked one.

She threw her head back and laughed. He paused, letting a few of her hairs free for the noose. "Oh, Tom. It's too perfect." She reached back and grabbed his neck, forcing his face forward, and leaning even further back herself, kissed him. She was quick, for all her strings had been cut.

_This is freedom_, she thought, biting his lips in her kiss and letting the knife slide cleanly into her palm. _Finally._ Ginny slashed upwards with the knife, and at the last moment, he jerked back. She felt it slide across his cheek like it was air, and as he cursed in pain and anger, she jumped up, knocking the chair into him. She heard the crash of him falling against the hearth.

"When planning a murder, always count the silverware," she informed him as she reached the door.

"You little--," he hissed, his eyes turning cold like the stone idol in her dreams.

"Catch me if you can," she called out.

_Freedom._

_&&&_

Ginny ran down the halls laughing, her hands still closed around her knife. She had found out that finality was the spice of life, and she had face to give to her torment.

"Ginny! Don't run with that knife. You'll slip and fall!" Harry screamed frantically. He was several halls and walls behind her. Yet Tom knew this place very well. As with all things, he took secrets rather than give them.

"Don't you wish! It won't be that easy, Tom!" she called back and took a quick left turn down the nearest corridor.

"I'm not Tom!"

She giggled and ducked behind the statue. It was time to be quiet, and try again. She crouched like a cat ready to pounce even though she should have been the mouse. They did have sharp teeth, but really, they were also quite small. She did have a sharp tooth, though. She gripped the handle of the knife tightly.

"Ginny," he said, slowing down. Sensing her. "I promise, he won't ever hurt you again. You just had a bad dream, is all."

Well, she knew that. He had said so, after all. The end result was the end result though, and she felt the thrill race up and down her legs, giving them feeling again.

"Harry!"

She frowned.

"Hermione, oh thank God."

"You're bleeding, mate," her brother pointed out.

"I got…she told me. It's happened again, hasn't it?"

"She has a knife," Harry choked out. "Please don't hurt her."

Finality was the spice of life. She threw the knife aside and stepped into their view. Hermione raised her wand.

"Go ahead. Just get me away from him." Harry looked pained, and Ron placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll let you go," she said to him. "I'll forget too. Let me have my peace and go on your way. It's become boring."

She smiled as Hermione's spell shot towards her like a bird.

_The only place for freedom was in captivity. You just had to find the right prison guard._

_&&&_

"I know you'll blame yourself," Hermione said sternly, leaning against the counter. "But you tried your best. We all tried."

"I think we tried too hard," he said.

"Will you be all right?"

He peered around at his living room which he once shared with Ginny, and nodded. "Yeah."

"There will be visitations. I'm planning on going tomorrow."

"I don't know if I can. Not yet."

"I understand. If you need anything…" She hesitated, and then embraced him. She felt him pull away and sighed. It would be awhile for Harry to be himself again.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said, and Apparated away with a pop.

And he smiled.

&&&

_This door you might not open, and you did;  
So enter now, and see for what slight thing  
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid._

_-_This is from a story about _Bluebeard. _By Edna St. Vincent Millay

-reference to Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning.

"One bad day to go insane" –theory of the Joker in the Killing Joke


End file.
